University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


LAUNCELOT  AND  GUENEVERE 
A   POEM   IN  DRAMAS 


IV.    TALIESIN 


BY   RICHARD    HOVEY 


LAUNCELOT    AND    GUENEVERE 

A  Poem  in  Dramas 
I.     THE  QUEST  OF  MERLIN    .     .  $1.25 

A  Masque 

II.     THE  MARRIAGE  OF  GUENEVERE    1.50 
A  Tragedy 

III.  THE  BIRTH  OF  GALAHAD.     .     1.50 

A  Romantic  Drama 

IV.  TALIESIN i.oo 

A  Masque 


ALONG  THE  TRAIL:  A  Book  of  Lyrics  1.50 

With  Bliss  Carman 

SONGS  FROM  VAGABONDIA      .     .     .  i.oo 

MORE  SONGS  FROM  VAGABONDIA     .  i.oo 

LAST  SONGS  FROM  VAGABONDIA  i.oo 


SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY,  BOSTON 


1 

AMASQ-OE 

RIC5ARD-DOYEY 


BOSTON 
SMALL-MAYNARD-AND-COMPANY 

MDOCCC 


Copyright,  1S99, 
BY  SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 

NOTE. 
This  book  has  also  been  copyrighted  as  a  dramatic  composition. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


TALIESIN 

111 

A   MASQUE 


PERSONS. 

TALIESIN,  a  Bard. 

PERCIVAL,  Knight  of  the  Round  TabU. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  MERLIN. 
NIMUE,  the  Lady  of  the  Lake. 
VOICES  OF  THE  WOOD. 

APOLLO. 

HERMES. 

THE  NINE  MUSES. 

THREE  DAMSELS. 

THE  CHILD,  afterward  THE  YOUTH. 

KING  EVELAC. 

THE  CHORISTERS  OF  THE  CHAPEL  OF  THE  GRAAL, 

THE  SEVEN  ANGELS  WHO  SEE  GOD  CONTINUALLY. 


SCENE. 

First  Movement.  —  The  Forest  of  Broceliande. 

Second  Movement.  —  Helicon. 

Third  Movement.  —  The  Chapel  of  the  GraaL 


TALIESIN. 


FIRST   MOVEMENT. 

The  Forest  of  Broceliande.  TALIESIN  lies  asleep 
under  the  thick-leaved  trees,  a  harp  by  his  side. 
The  voices  of  unseen  Spirits  are  heard,  singing. 

VOICES. 

Here  falls  no  light  of  sun  nor  stars ; 

No  stir  nor  striving  here  intrudes  ; 
No  moan  nor  merrymaking  mars 

The  quiet  of  these  solitudes. 

Submerged  in  sleep,  the  passive  soul 
Is  one  with  all  the  things  that  seem ; 

Nigjht  blurs  in  one  confused  whole 
Alike  the  dreamer  and  the  dream. 

O  dwellers  in  the  busy  town  ! 

For  dreams  you  smile,  for  dreams  you  weep. 
Come  out,  and  lay  your  burdens  down  ! 

Come  out ;  there  is  no  God  but  Sleep. 

3 


\The  branches  are  pressed  apart,  and  the 
young  knight,  SIR  PERCIVAL,  pushes  his 
•way  through  them. 

PERCIVAL.     No  path,  no  beacon  of  directing  stars, 
No  outlet  from  perpetual  wandering ! 
Three  days  have  I  sought  vainly  through  this  wood  ; 
And  yet  I  fear  to  sleep.     The  heavy  air 
Enwraps  me  with  a  drowsiness  so  strange 
I  dare  not  yield  to  it.  —  What  youth  is  this? 
A  minstrel,  by  his  harp.     Alas,  he  sleeps 
As  if  he  ne'er  would  wake  again.     Soho  ! 
Awake  !  lest  you  should  sleep  into  your  death. 

TALIESIN  (awaking).     Dreams,  but  I  fain  would 

know  wherefore  we  dream. 

PERCIVAL.     Shake  off  your  slumber  now  and  an 
swer  me. 

I  am  Sir  Percival,  three  days  ago 
Made  Knight  of  the  Round  Table.     Who  art  thou  ? 
TALIESIN.     I  was  the  bard  at  Elphin's  court,  whose 

realm 

The  encroaching  sea  overthrew.     And  now  I  go 
To  seek  the  halls  of  Arthur,  for  a  bard 
Must  live  at  courts,  and  where  the  life  of  men 
Is  densest  and  the  struggle  is  most  fierce. 

PERCIVAL.     Men  speak  at  Camelot  of  Taliesin, 
And  call  him  the  new  Merlin.     Ay,  the  King 
Himself  has  spoken  of  you,  and  I  know 
That  you  will  be  right  welcome.     But  how  comes  it 
That  you  are  here  so  far  from  the  right  way  ? 


TALIESIN.     This  is  the  mystic  wood  where  Merlin 

lies 

In  his  enchanted  sleep.     My  master  he, 
And  of  him  I  seek  counsel. 

PERCIVAL.  And  I  too. 

Three  days  have  I  sought  for  him  in  this  wood, 
And  seen  no  living  thing,  nor  heard  no  sound 
But  murmurs  that  entice  me  to  a  sleep 
Wherefrom  I  shrink.     I  took  this  quest  upon  me, 
Being  heartsore  with  the  scandals  of  the  court. 

TALIESIN.     Scandals,  at  the  court  of  the  blameless 

King? 

PERCIVAL.     Sir,  I  perceive  you  know  us  as  we  seem, 
Not  as  we  are.     And  for  the  King  himself, 
Save  rumors  of  strange  sins  wrought  long  ago, 
I  know  no  charge  against  him.     But  his  court, 
Even  the  high  order  of  the  Table  Round, 
That  was  for  an  ensample  edified 
Of  manhood  at  its  highest,  holiest  reach,  — 
It  has  become  a  house  of  infamy. 
Ere  I  was  made  a  knight,  the  sin  I  saw 
Made  the  light  harsh  and  the  air  stifling  to  me; 
And  then  I  vowed  that  my  first  knightly  quest 
Should  be  to  find  some  rescue  from  the  sin. 
VOICES. 

Sleep,  and  renounce  the  vital  day ; 

For  evil  is  the  child  of  life. 
Let  be  the  will  to  live,  and  pray 
To  find  forgetfulness  of  strife. 


Beneath  the  thicket  of  these  leaves 
No  light  discriminates  each  from  each. 

No  Self  that  wrongs,  no  Self  that  grieves 
Hath  longer  deed  nor  creed  nor  speech. 

Sleep  on  the  mighty  Mother's  breast ! 

Sleep,  and  no  more  be  separate ! 
Then,  one  with  Nature's  ageless  rest, 

There  shall  be  no  more  sin  to  hate. 

TALIESIN.      Again  —  the  slumber  gains  upon  my 

eyes 
As  gently  as  night  rises  on  the  hills. 

PERCIVAL.     Arouse  you !     Hither  came  we  not  to 

sleep; 

And  to  my  ears  these  voices,  like  the  scent 
Of  poisonous  orient  flowers,  albeit  sweet, 
Are  heavy  with  the  drowsiness  of  death. 

TALIESIN.     Death  hath  no  terrors  if  he  come  like 

this, 

Fondling  the  soul  to  sleep  with  lingering  touch. 
PERCIVAL.     No  sleep  for  us,  on  whom  the  weight  is 

laid 

Of  many  labors.     Yet  what  way  to  turn 
Or  by  what  art  or  speech  or  master  deed 
To  find  the  Seer  where  he  lies  entranced 
That  know  I  not. 

TALIESIN  (seizing  his  harp').    But  that  I  know,  nor 
longer 


Shall  these  seducing  spirits  have  power  on  me. 
Listen,  for  now  I  rule  them  in  my  turn. 

[He  touches  the  strings  of  his  harp^  and  at  the 
sound  the  other  murmurs  are  still.    He  sings  : 
Spirits  of  Sleep, 
That  swell  and  sink 

In  the  sea  of  Being 
Like  waves  on  the  deep, 
Forming,  crumbling, 
Fumbling,  and  tumbling 

Forever,  unseeing, 
From  brink  to  brink  ! 

Perishing  voices, 
That  call  and  call 

From  the  coves  of  dream 
With  hollow  noises ! 
I  hear  the  sweep 
Of  the  tides  of  sleep, 

The  ocean  stream 
Where  the  ages  fall. 

But  not  for  these 
Will  I  let  me  die, 

Though  my  heart  remembers 
The  calling  seas ; 
For  the  cycles  fought 
Till  form  was  wrought 

And  Might  had  members 
And  I  was  I. 


Yet  still  to  you, 
O  Dreams,  I  turn ; 

Not  with  a  prayer 
But  a  bidding  to  do  ! 
I  surmount  and  subdue  you ; 
Not  without  you  but  through  you 

I  shall  forge  and  fare 
To  the  chosen  bourne. 

VOICES. 

We  are  ware  of  a  will 
Cries  "Peace,  be  still!" 
And  our  waters  cease 
To  a  troubled  peace. 

TALIESIN. 

Lo,  star  upon  star ! 
They  dwell  alone  — 

Sirius,  Altair, 
Algebar ! 

Their  ways  are  asunder,  — 
Aloof,  in  thunder 

They  march  and  flare 
From  zone  to  zone. 

But  the  formless  ether 
Far  and  far 

Enfolds  their  places. 
Therein  together 
At  one  they  sweep 


From  deep  to  deep, 

And  over  its  spaces 
Star  calls  to  star. 

Through  its  waves  they  reach 
Beyond  their  spheres 

'To  their  fellow  fires. 
Each  yearns  to  each, 
And  the  straight  wills  swerve 
To  a  yielding  curve, 

And  a  moth's  desires 
Deflect  the  years. 

And  with  urge  on  urge 
Of  the  rippling  wave 

Light  speeds  through  space ; 
The  domes  emerge ; 
And  the  halls  of  Night 
Behold  .each  light 

Reveal  his  face 
To  the  vast  conclave 

The  centred  Soul 
By  these  is  known. 
Its  will  it  wreaks 
At  its  own  control ; 
But  dumb,  unseeing, 
The  sea  of  Being 

Washes  the  peaks 
Where  it  strives  alone. 

9 


VOICES. 

As  the  dawn  awaits 
The  recoiling  gates 
Of  the  eastern  air, 
We  are  calm  and  hear. 

TALIESIN. 

O  vast  of  Sleep 
Wherein  we  grew ! 

Whence  wrench  by  wrench 
Self  heaved  its  steep  ! 
The  bond  abides ; 
Your  mighty  tides 

Still  clasp  and  clench 
The  soul  to  you. 

In  your  darks  indwelling 
The  lonely  Mind 

Regains  its  deeps. 
Therethrough  the  compelling 
Gravitation  of  soul 
Decrees  control, 

And  with  far  leaps 
Knits  kind  to  kind. 

Through  your  floods  of  dream 
The  warm  love  glows ; 

And  its  live  light  streaming 
Beam  on  beam 
Bares  each  to  each 


As  sight  nor  speech 

Nor  deed  nor  deeming 
Could  e'er  disclose. 

For  save  in  you 

(Strange  under-life !) 

We  can  but  trust 
If  the  world  be  true, 
Or  if  our  vision 
Be  but  derision, 

The  smoke  and  dust 
Of  a  phantom  strife. 

Oh,  then,  to  gain 
The  eternal  streams ! 

Nor  fail  as  flakes 
In  the  gulfing  main  t 
No  lordship  losing, 
To  fare  on,  fusing 

The  self  that  wakes 
And  the  self  that  dreams ! 

For  so  shall  my  calling 
Compel  to  me 

The  dumb,  the  distant, 
The  unrecalling, 
Through  ways  that  darken 
To  hie  and  hearken 
And  unresistant 
Their  dooms  decree. 


So  shall  my  word 
Yearn  forth  and  reach 
Where  Merlin  lies, 
Far,  still,  unstirred 
Of  birth  or  dying. 
Yea,  at  my  crying 

The  dead  shall  rise 
And  grant  me  speech. 

O  Merlin,  master, 
Hear  my  prayer ! 

We  grope  and  palter, 
And  thick  disaster 
Besets  our  ways 
In  the  wood  of  days 

Wherein  we  falter 
From  snare  to  snare. 

One  hour  awake 
From  your  magic  sleep, 

And  point  us  where 
Are  the  paths  to  take; 
Till  in  your  musing 
We  find  for  choosing 

The  deeds  to  dare 
And  the  laws  to  keep. 

[A  diffused  light  appears  in  the  background.     It 
gathers  and  defines  to  a  luminous  sphere. 


VOICES.    He  hath  spoken  our  names; 

And  we  yield  as  flames 

That  are  wild  or  still 

At  the  wind's  will. 
\The  forms  of  MERLIN  and  NIMUE  gradually 

become  visible  in  the  light. 
NIMUE.     He  sleeps ; 

The  ancient  Mother  o'er  him  croons 

The  lull  of  her  recurring  runes ; 

And  in  his  heart  he  keeps 

The  calm  of  silent  moons. 

For  him  no  vital  Avalon, 

No  still-aspiring  Paradise  ! 

He  sought  it  not ;  at  peace  he  lies, 

Nor  hears  the  years  stride  on. 

On  earth  two  only  held  his  heart, 

And  with  these  two  his  soul  abides. 

For  here  reluctant  Nature  hides 

No  more  her  secret ;  he  is  part 

Of  her  most  unconfided  whim, 

And  here  in  dreams  I  visit  him. 

O  ye  for  whom  the  forest  has  no  fears ! 

O  thou  whose  voice  is  strong 

To  quell  the  night  with  song ! 

Speak;  for  he  hears. 

TALIESIN.     Wakest  thou,  then,  O  Merlin  ? 
MERLIN.  Nay,  I  sleep. 

TALIESIN.     And  yet  thou  hearest  ? 
13 


MERLIN.  I  hear  thee  in  my  dream. 

Who  art  thou  ? 

TALIESIN.        One  that  ere  thou  knewest  sleep, 
Chose  thee  for  master ;  for  I  heard  the  hills 
Reverb  thy  music,  and  the  druid  trees 
Speak  with  thy  voice  and  take  thy  thought  upon  them. 
And  still  I  hearten  mine  own  song  with  thine, 
And  on  the  lonely  crags  repeat  thy  runes 
And  fill  my  lungs  with  thunders.     But  to  me 
Speak  thou  not  yet.     I  am  but  as  my  harp 
Whereon  a  Hand  makes  music ;  thou,  the  last 
Of  the  antique  wholeness  and  heroic  height, 
Bard,  ruler,  prophet,  like  the  sacred  oak, 
With  stir  of  lyric  rumor  in  thy  leaves, 
Shadowest  the  mysteries  of  the  hidden  gods. 
Give  answer  first  to  him  that  comes  with  me, 
Who  seeks  to  rule  his  deeds  ;  then  to  my  cry, 
Who  am  the  horn  blown  on  his  battlefield. 

MERLIN.  The  horn  blown  is  a  deed.  I  know  thee  now 
And    him    that  comes  with  thee.     (To  PERCIVAL.) 

Brave-hearted  boy, 

Though  not  for  thee  to  know  the  mysteries, 
Be  of  good  heart ;  thou  also  shalt  attain. 
Thou  shalt  behold  the  ripe  fruit  on  the  tree, 
Though  the  earth  send  its  riches  through  the  sap 
Without  thy  ken  ;  and  thy  right  hand  shall  guard 
The  fruit  from  evil,  and  thy  lips  shall  taste 
Its  savor.     From  this  place  the  earth-goddess, 
Even  Nimue,  whom  thou  beholdest  here, 


Shall  bear  thee  to  a  castle  far  away 
Where  the  Graal-lord,  King  Evelac,  abides ; 
A  marvel  shall  be  shown  thee  there,  and  all, 
Lawful  to  speak,  be  told  thee. 

PERCIVAL.  Must  I  leave 

My  comrade  then? 

MERLIN.  Heed  not ;  but,  forasmuch 

As  thou  mayest  not  behold  the  secrets  shown 
To  thy  companion,  sleep.     When  thou  awakest, 
Thou  shalt  be  with  him  and  the  ancient  King. 

PERCIVAL.     Nay,  nay,  I  will  not  sleep. 

MERLIN.    Thou  must.     (To  TALIESIN.)   For  thee, 
Dear  son,  thou  shalt  not  be  as  I.     I  am 
As  I  desired,  but  thy  desire  shall  be 
Other,  and  thou  shalt  go  from  hence  to  win 
From  brighter  powers  intenser  wakefulness, 
While  I  sink  back  to  deeper  sleep.     But  first, 
Ere  from  the  wood  thou  pass,  thou  shalt  behold, 
Unclad  alone  to  lyric  eyes,  the  heart 
Of  Broceliande,  the  Lady  of  the  wood, 
The  goddess  of  the  silent  stir  of  life, 
Nimue,  in  star-blinding  nakedness. 

PERCIVAL.     Thou  wilt  not  do  this  thing. 

TALIESIN.  Thy  dream  for  thee ; 

But  for  me  other  stars  and  white  desires. 
Great  master,  rest ;  and  all  thy  will  be  thine. 

MERLIN.     I  go  again  to  the  great  deep.     Farewell ! 
\The  form  of  MERLIN  fades  away  out  of  the 
circle  of  light. 


NIMUE    (to  PERCIVAL).    Wilt  thou    resist  ?    Be 
hold,  if  I  stretch  but  my  hand 
Like  a  gleam  of  the  northlights   against   thee,  thou 

yieldest.     The  calm 

Of  the  cool  earth  rises  about  thee,  and  over  thy  heart 
Shoots  lacework   of  frost,  —  crystal  lightnings   that 

thicken  and  knit 
To  a  corselet  of  silence :  ice-bound,  wilt  thou  strive, 

wilt  thou  wake  ?  [PERCIVAL  sleeps. 

Sleep  ;  not  for  the  eyes  that  contemn  me,  I  draw  from 

its  sheath 
The  white  sword  of  my  beauty.     Sleep  ;  ay,  lest  thou 

wake  and  it  smite 
And  cleave  thee  with  madness. 

TALIESIN.  Goddess  swift  and  fierce ! 

I  know  the  trail  that  in  dim  woods  at  eve 
Hangs  like  a  mist  and  makes  each  stir  of  air 
Accord  in  music.     I  have  caught  and  lost 
The  memory  of  thy  passing  in  thrilled  skies, 
Or  where  waves  crumble  their  thin  edges  down 
In  laughter  of  shifting  line.     But  never  day 
So  bugling,  never  night  so  druid-sweet 
That  the  elusive  secret  spoke  itself, 
The  lamp  whose  radiance  or  reflection  washed 
The  world  in  charm,  blazed  evident  in  pearl. 

NIMUE.     I  have  known  thee,  my  lover,  my  bard. 

I  have  lurked  in  the  leaves 
And  allured  thee  with  rumors,  and  fled,  and  beguiled 

thee  to  follow, 

16 


Till  I  sank  in  the  maze  and  escaped  thee  and  laughed 

through  my  hair. 

TALIESIN.     Thou  crafty,  thou  elusive,  undivined! 
Laugh  once  again,  O  queen,  with  lyric  throat 
And  witchcraft  of  escape  in  wildwood  eyes  ! 
—  Nay,    this    time    mock    me    not ;    though    equal 

charm 

Abide  in  thee  evasive  in  the  glen 
Or  in  this  arctic  splendor  palpable  ! 
Remain,  remain  ;  and  from  thy  holy  light, 
Oh,  cast  the  pale  electric  mantle  off ; 
My  eyes  will  dare  the  sun. 

NIMUE.  On  thy  head  the  event! 

Be  thou  weak  to  sustain  the  intolerable  avatar, 
Thou  shalt  flee  from  this  forest  accursed ;  from  this 

day  at  thy  heart 
Like  a  vulture  the  rage  of  that  beauty  shall  ravin  for 

food 
Anjd  consume  thee  for  failure  to  find  it.     But  master 

thy  soul 
And  be  strong  to  command  in  the  blaze  of  the  vision 

thy  song, 
And  my  power  shall  be  thine  and  the  word  of  my 

magic  to  men. 
Achieve  the  ordeal,  through  me  shalt  thou  seek  other 

gods, 
And  their  light  be  upon  thee. 

TALIESIN.  Reveal  thyself. 

NIMUE.  See,  at  thy  peril. 

17 


[NiMUE  throws  back  from  her  shoulders  her 
mantle,  revealing  herself  in  softer  garments 
of  a  roseate  yellow ;  these,  with  an  almost 
imperceptible  slowness,  seem  first  to  melt 
away  into  draperies  of  light,  which  "vanish 
in  turn  save  for  shreds  of  luminous  mist  that 
linger  a  little  and  then  disappear  completely, 
leaving  the  goddess  manifest  in  her  beauty. 
All  the  while  TALIESIN,  standing  by  the  en 
tranced  body  of  his  companion,  sings  to  a 
strange  accompaniment  on  his  harp. 

TALIESIN. 

As  the  stars  dissolve  in  the  dawn, 

Thou  art  warm,  thou  art  fair ; 
And  the  birth  of  thy  beauty  is  gone 

Like  a  chord  through  the  air. 
The  darkness  has  heard,  and  is  thrilled 

With  a  light  to  be  born ; 
The  heart  of  the  silence  is  filled 

With  the  trumpets  of  morn. 

As  the  kiss  of  two  lovers  at  night 

Makes  the  darkness  a  choir, 
The  dusk  is  a-quiver  with  light 

Of  its  heart's  desire. 
Earth  bows  in  her  temple  of  stars 

In  a  rapturous  hush, 
As  beaconing  over  her  scars 

God  burns  in  the  bush. 

18 


As  the  heather  glows  over  the  hills 

Like  a  shadow  ablaze, 
The  moss  of  the  forest-floor  thrills 

Into  bloom  at  thy  gaze  ; 
The  grasses  begin  to  confer, 

And  the  crickets  to  fife ; 
The  borders  of  Death  are  astir 

With  the  armies  of  Life. 

Thou  art  comely,  O  queen,  thou  art  strong 

As  the  red  deer  leaping ; 
And  the  light  of  thy  limbs  is  like  song 

When  thought  lies  sleeping ; 
As  the  sphere  of  a  star  thou  art  fair ; 

As  an  almond  in  bloom 
The  flush  of  thy  beauty  laid  bare 

Throbs,  throbs  in  the  gloom. 

0  daughter  and  queller  of  strife, 
From  whose  beauty  death  slips 

Like  a  cloud  in  thy  garments  !  my  life 
For  the  cling  of  thy  lips  ! 

1  have  known  thee,  our  Lady  of  Birth; 
I  have  seen  and  adored ; 

I  must  die  on  the  reel  of  thy  mirth 
Or  be  wholly  thy  lord. 

[He  steps  forward  into  the  circle  of  light  and 
kisses  her.     The  light  vanishes  instantly ',  and 
the  scene  is  plunged  into  darkness. 
19 


SECOND   MOVEMENT. 
The  Slopes  of  Helicon.    NIMUE  and  TALIESIN. 

NIMUE.     No  further  alone  will  the  dream-mighty 
magic  prevail 

Of  the  lightnings  that  lurk  in  my  girdle.    Do  thou  too 
put  forth 

The  flash  of  thy  will  and  the  jar  of  thy  striving,  and 
climb. 

Though  I  leave  thee,  I  do  not  forsake  thee. 
TALIESIN.  Nay,  leave  me  not ! 

Thy  kiss  throbs  through  me  yet.     My  brain  is  like 

The  beat  of  aching  music,  rhythmical, 

But  groaning  to  be  free.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  grow  faint ! 

The  glow  in  me,  like  moonlight  seen  through  clouds, 

Pales ! 

NIMUE.     They  to  whom  /bear  children,  the  birth- 
throes  feel 

In  spirit  and  brain,  though  I,  the  immortal,  impassive, 

Suffer  only,  indwelling  the  dark  of  their  being,  in  them. 

Lo,  the  earth  is  my  womb,  and  the  air  is  the  door  of  my 
womb, 

And  the  domed  sky  is  big  with  the  births  of  my  teem 
ing.     Be  calm. 


\Floating  in  the  air  between  the  two  appears  a 
strange,  elf-like  CHILD.  It  is  uncouth  and 
hairy,  and  like  a  being  of  the  woods,  but 
there  is  yet  a  wild,  unhuman  charm  in  its 
look  and  smile. 

TALIESIN.    Mine  !     Mine ! 

Dragon-fly  darting 
Hither  and  thither,  — 
Blue  smoke  of  wings ; 
Bee  buzzing  movelessly 
Over  a  blue-bell ; 
Cloud  in  the  sun, 
Clad  with  a  gleam 
Glad  as  the  clay-red 
Blaring  of  battle-horns ! 
Mine,  thou  art  mine  1 
I  demand  thee ! 

CHILD.         I  am  a  hedgehog ; 

I  am  a  burr ; 

'Ware  prickles  !     Touch  me  not ! 
Krr!  krr!  krr! 

TALIESIN.    Fairy  or  child  ; 
Elfin  or  human ; 
Light  on  the  tarn, 
Escaping  the  hollow  hand, 
Scooped  in  the  water, 
Eluding,  alluring,  — 
How  shall  I  seize  thee  ? 


CHILD.          I  '11  dare  you  like  a  dare-dog ; 
I  '11  haunt  you  like  a  witch ; 

I  '11  lead  you  like  a  tanglefoot, 
And  leave  you  in  the  ditch. 
TALIESIN.    Only  one  lure, 

Only  one  call  for  a  lure ! 

Hear !  hear ! 

Dark  in  the  heart  of  the  deep, 

Far  in  the  speed  of  the  stars,  — 

Throb,  throb,  — 

Rune  of  the  spheres ! 

CHILD.          Bells  in  the  blue  sky, 

Birds  sing  in  June ; 

I  am  a  stickleback,  — 
Tickle  me  with  tune. 
TALIESIN.    Under  the  moss, 

Under  the  dream  of  the  moss ! 

Near,  near ! 

Dark  in  the  sleep  of  the  grass  ! 

Chime  in  the  rumor  of  Time ! 

Beat,  beat,  — 

Croon  of  the  years  ! 
CHILD.          Cricket  in  the  grass  cries ; 
Bees  buzz,  buzz ; 

I  am  a  thistle-bloom,  — 
Take  me  by  the  fuzz. 
TALIESIN.    Little  ones  know, 

Little  ones  know  without  knowing, 

(Dear,  dear  !) 

Dark  in  the  guess  of  their  hearts ! 


Joy,  my  little  one,  joy  ! 

Leap,  leap, 

To  the  tune  of  the  world. 

\The  CHILD  settles  in  TALIESIN'S  arms. 
CHILD.    Grasshopper  jumping 

In  the  early  morning  dew ! 
Teach  me  how  to  dance  so 

And  I  '11  play  with  you. 

Enter  above,  at  the  top  of  a  steep  ascent,  three  DAM 
SELS,  having  their  garments  curiously  embroi 
dered,  one  with  bells,  another  with  precious 
stones  and  metals,  the  third  with  flowers.  They 
come,  dancing. 
THE  DAMSELS. 

Dance  we  merrily,  maids  of  May  ! 
All  the  woods  and  the  meadows  laugh 
Low  with  crocus  and  hyacinth  ; 
Dance  we  lightly,  the  sky  is  blue ! 

Light  bells  blown  in  the  morning  breeze, 
Hear  them  shimmering  like  fine  rain 
Shot  with  sun  to  a  lace  of  light 
Woven  over  the  bosomed  hills  ! 

Every  flower  with  an  opal  gleams ; 
All  the  grasses  are  tipped  with  joy ; 
Wind  in  clover-bed,  wind  in  fern, 
Kicks  his  heels  with  the  mirth  of  morn. 

Decked  for  gala  day,  forth  and  free  ! 
Meet  the  morn  with  a  heart  of  sky ! 
23 


Greet  the  wave  with  a  rippled  face, 
Dance  we  merrily,  maids  of  May ! 
TALIESIN  {playfully).    Joy  for  my  joy,  and  flowers 

for  my  flower ! 
I  '11  have  them,  though  I  climb  for  't. 

\Begins  lightly  to  climb  the  slope. 
NIMUE.  Fare  thee  well  1     [Disappears. 

CHILD.  Up  we  go,  long  legs, 

Up  to  the  top ! 
When  we  get  there,  will 

The  blue  sky  drop  ? 

DAMSELS.     Bring  the  boy  to  us.     Look,  this  tree 
Silver-glittering  with  the  morn,  — 
We  will  make  him  as  fair  to  see. 

[TALIESIN  and  the  CHILD  reach  the  level,  on 

which  the  three  DAMSELS  await  them. 
CHILD.        Pretty  things,  pretty  things, — 

What  can  they  be  ? 
Pretty  toys,  and  pretty  noise,  — 

Give  them  all  to  me. 
TALIESIN.     That  was  an   easy  climb,  and  yet  I 

hardly 

Can  get  my  breath.     You  are  not  a  light  load, 
Youngster,  for  all  you  're  but  a  morning  old. 

FIRST  DAMSEL.    Bells  I  bring,  that  your  steps  may 

chime  f 

SECOND  DAMSEL.     Jewels,  every  eye  to  spell ! 
THIRD  DAMSEL.     Flowers,  to  girdle  you  with  sweet 
air! 


CHILD.     Rings  on  her  fingers,  and  bells  on  her  toes, 
Garlands  of  daffodil,  lily,  and  rose  ! 
She  shall  have  music  wherever  she  goes, 
And  hands  to  hold  up  in  a  beautiful  pose, 
And  a  very  sweet  smell  in  her  nose,  —  her  nose,  — 
A  very  sweet  smell  in  her  nose ! 

\_A  dance,  in  which  the  CHILD  is  passed  from 
damsel  to  damsel,  with  a  gay  song;  in  the 
dance,  they  cover  him  with  garments  richly 
ornamented  with  bells,  gems,  and  flowers. 
DAMSELS. 

Come,  foot  it  with  us  gayly ; 
Our  legs  are  lithe  as  willow; 
Our  heels  are  light  as  vapor  ! 

The  sparkle  on  the  water, 
When  wind  and  sunshine  frolic, 
No  gayer  than  our  glance  is. 

The  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle 
Of  drops  of  water  falling 

(A  silver  sound  of  laughing 
From  lattices  of  morning), 

The  flutter  of  blown  grasses, 
The  swing  of  twigs  birds  cling  to, 

The  pomp  of  poppied  meadows, 
The  revel  of  June  roses, 

The  reel  of  life  made  tipsy 
With  vintages  of  laughter, 
25 


Awake  us,  and  we  answer 
The  call  of  day  with  music. 

And  over  blade  and  clover, 
As  when  the  west  wind  passes, 
The  grasses  hardly  bending, 

We  twirl  and  glide  and  trip  it 

Down  wind-floors  of  desiring, 

To  open  doors  of  dreamland. 

[They  dance  away,  leaving  the  CHILD  covered 

with  a  profusion  of  ornaments. 

CHILD  (still  dancing). 

Oh,  see  the  pretty  spangles 
And  hear  the  pretty  jangles  ! 
From  every  corner  dangles 

A  garland  to  and  fro ! 
I  love  the  silver  tinkling, 
I  love  the  starry  twinkling, 
Although  I  Ve  not  an  inkling 

Of  what  the  garlands  know. 

TALIESIN.     Beauty,  but  not  the  beauty  of  the  soul 
I  see  dim-glowing  like  a  coal  the  wind 
Fans  till  it  kindles.     Let  the  bells  be  bells, 
The  roses  breathe  their  rose-thought  out  in  odors, 
The  opal-passion  through  the  opal  sing  ; 
Thy  loveliness  is  other.     Come,  away  ! 

CHILD.    You  sha'n't  have  my  pretty  things,  I  say. 

{Darting  off. 


TALIESIN.     Nay,  keep  them,  till  you  yield  them  of 

yourself. 

.  .  .  Higher  to  climb  looks  not  so  light  a  task 
As  this  first  hillock.     No  ascent  I  see 
But  up  sheer  heights  and  over  rocky  ways. 
But  on  the  summit  see  I  not  afar 
Soft  slopes  and  pleasant  woods,  and  'neath  the  boughs 
Calm  goddesses  whose  moving,  even  here, 
Seems  like  a  solemn  music  ?  .  .  .  I  will  climb  ! 

[Climbs  up  and  out  of  sight  with  the  CHILD. 
The  scene  changes  to  the  summit  of  Helicon. 
The  nine  MUSES  are  moving  through  an  in 
tricate  and  stately  dance,  in  the  intervals  of 
which  they  sing.  A  simpler  movement  of  the 
dance  continues  through  the  singing. 
THE  MUSES.  The  supreme  rays  of  the  sun  break 

into  day,  only  on  reaching 

At  the  far  rim  of  the  sphere,  faint  as  the  dim  ghost  of 
a  dream-sea, 

The  upwhirled  foam  of  the  thin  air ; 
In  the  void  spaces  between  worlds  it  is  night.     So  is 

the  spirit 

Unrevealed,  barren,  remote,  vain,  but  if  made  flesh  for 
beholding ; 

And  its  doom  surely  is  darkness. 

For  a  soul  speechless,  without  body,  without  token  for 

comrades, 
Is  the  dark  promise  of  soul  only,   enwombed  still, 

unbegotten. 

27 


But  the  flesh,  giving  the  spirit 
To  the  world,  gives  it  as  well  back  to  itself,  great  with 

a  world's  gain; 

And  the  word  teaches  our  own  thought  that  was  spoke, 
teaching  another ; 

And  the  deed  fashions  the  doer. 

To  the  unseeing,  the  unspeaking,  the  blue  heaven  is  a 

vain  thing 

And  the  world's  hero  a  name.     Love  in  his  heart  rots 
unaccomplished, 

As  an  oak  dead  in  the  acorn. 
But  let  speech  fall  like  a  sunburst  on  the  night  —  lo, 

it  unfolds  star 

Upon  star,  height  beyond  height,  world  without  end, 
till  in  its  splendor 

It  shall  see  God,  it  shall  be  God. 
Enter  TALIESIN  and  the  CHILD. 

TALIESIN.    O  benign  goddesses,  be  gracious  now 
To  me  who  call  upon  you,  ignorant, 
Unskilful,  but  my  heart  is  set  to  sing. 
URANIA.     What  gifts,  then,  dost  thou  bring,  in- 

voking  goddesses  ? 

TALIESIN.     Joy,  and  a  gift  of  praise,  and  sacrifice. 
URANIA.     Approach  and  offer  these  upon  the  altar, 

then. 
TALIESIN.     The  sandals  wherewith  to  this  height 

I  climbed, 

These  for  a  pledge  of  years  and  weariness ; 
38 


The  harp  I  play  on,  for  a  token  of  awe, 
Praise  and  the  utter  yield  of  all  my  song 
To  your  divine  dominion,  dames  serene, 
Daughters  of  Wisdom ;  last  of  all,  I  give 
The  song,  the  rapture  of  my  heart,  the  love, 
The  lyric  joy,  the  child  that  made  me  glad. 

[He  leaves  the  CHILD  and  the  other  gifts  on  the 
altar. 

0  splendors  of  the  eternal,  hear  my  prayer ! 
Teach  me  the  knowledge  of  your  ways,  till  what 

1  feel  in  all  my  veins,  I  may  declare 

In  all  my  voices ;  what  I  know  at  heart, 
In  speech  incarnate;  what  my  soul  desires, 
Show  forth  in  all  the  passion  of  my  flesh. 
Divinities  of  light,  oh,  hear  my  cry  ! 

URANIA.     In  the  beginning  is   the  Word;  God, 

perfect  Spirit, 

Eternally  reveals  himself.     To  Space  he  speaks 
And  clothes  himself  in  thunders  of  orchestral  stars. 
He  calls   aloud,  and  Time  grows  rhythmic  with  the 

breath 
Of  life.     The  grappling  of  the  spheres  declares  the 

might 

Of  his  dominion,  and  their  paths  its  perfectness. 
Lo,  he  hath  builded  the  foundations  of  the  world 
In  night,  and  vaulted  its  blue  dome  with  fire.  His 

speech 
Is  in  the  carved  work  of  its  walls,  and  where  his 

hand 

29 


Hath  laid  its  floors  in  beauty.    Very  light  of  light, 

Behind  the  drench    and  dream  of  color   lurks   his 

love. 

CLIO.      Empires,   migrations,   battles,  thrones,  de 
mocracies, 

Wharves  and  adventuring  sails,  and  clamor  of  fierce 
desires, 

Cities  and  priesthoods,  —  so  the  spirit  of  man  is  clay 

God  moulds  into  the  mighty  image  of  his  dream. 
URANIA.     The  universe  is  his  garment. 
CLIO.  And  the  soul  of  man 

His  image,  triune,  sense  and  thought  and  love,  full- 
sphered. 

TERPSICHORE.     Last  through  the  body,  one  with 
Man  and  Nature,  —  a  speech 

Itself  and  mother  of  all  speech  else,  —  wherein  the 
earth 

Takes  on  the  likeness  of  divinity,  —  he  shines. 

TALIESIN.     Ay,  but  the  blind  world  sees  not,  till 
the  artist 

Reverbs  the  messages.     The  myriad-wrought 

Harmonies  of  design  and  color  fade 

For  very  intricacy  of  eloquence 

Into  an  indistinguishable  gray. 

But  bit  by  bit  if  disentangled,  held 

Apart,  and  shown  to  men,  their  eyes,  once  seeing 

The  broken  beauty  isolated,  turn 

Back  to  God's  work  to  find  it  there  forever; 

So  God  makes  use  of  poets.     Teach  me,  then, 
30 


To  fashion  worlds  in  little,  making  form, 
As  God  does,  one  with  spirit,  —  be  the  priest 
Who  makes  God  into  bread  to  feed  the  world. 

URANIA.     The  body  is  a  form,  with  line  and  tone 

and  tint 
And  hue  and  texture,  light  and  shade ;  and  talks  as 

clouds 
And  mountains  do,  and  oaks  and  grass  and  starry 

nights ; 

And  in  its  features  what  man  is,  is  charactered. 
Nor  may  he  change  his   nature  but   sure  Time   in 
scribes 

The  record  of  the  change  upon  that  palimpsest. 
TERPSICHORE.     Form  is  the  subsidence  upon  the 

shores  of  Time 

Left  there  by  motion  of  forgotten  seas.     Not  form 
Alone,  immutable  and  sterile  diamond, 
The  body  is,  but  vibrant,  pregnable,  a  harp 
Whereon  the  spirit  plays  innumerous  melodies 
Of  motion,  —  chords,  progressions  visible,  —  wherein 
Gather  and  fade  the  myriad  unrecurring  dreams, 
Passions  and  ecstasies  that  sweep  like  shadows  o'er 
The  prairies  of  man's  heart. 

POLYHYMNIA.  Nor  this  alone  ;  without, 

An  instrument  whereon  the  harmonies  of  light 
And  movement  rise,  within  it  is  an  organ  wrought 
From   crown   to    midriff    for    the  wonder    of    tone. 

And  so 

Man's  life  goes  out  in  music. 
3* 


TERPSICHORE.  Praise  the  body,  then, 

A  loveliness  itself  and  twofold  lyre  to  call 
New  loveliness  to  being.     Praise  the  blazon  of  flesh 
That  like  a  clarion  sunburst  trumpets  to  the  night 
The  universe  of  soul :  valley  and  peak  and  still 
Woodland  and  quiver  of  the  universal  air 
Leap  from  the  silence,  and  the  dead  is  made  alive. 

EUTERPE.     Lute,  viol,  trumpet,  —  as  a  conquering 

king  the  soul 

O'ersteps  the  realm  ancestral,  fills  dead  Africas 
With  colonies  of  music,  multiplies  its  throne 
In  empired  harmonies.     The  forest  yields  its  trees, 
The  caverns  of  the  earth  their  ores,  and  man  creates 
A  thousand  throats  to  speak  through.     Oh,  the  won 
drous  frame 

The  soul  shall  fashion  for  itself  in  that  vast  life 
God  keeps  for  it  in  heaven !      Speech  of  the  yet 

unshaped, 
Dream  of  the  yet  enwombed  and  unborn  in  man's 

heart, 
He  gropes  for  in  the  shudderings  of  the  air. 

ERATO.  And  last 

Man  names  the  world,  himself,  and  all  that  is  therein, 
The  incantation  of  the  word  calls  from  the  dark 
The  phantoms  of  the  mind,  insights,  analogies, 
Conceptions,  ratiocinations,  memories,  — 
Bodiless  wizardries  whose  air-drawn  lineaments 
Compel  the  ages. 

CALLIOPE.  Word,  tone,  gesture,  color,  shape, 

32 


I  sum  them  in  the  deed.     Man,  Master  of  an  Act, 
At  last  and  only  finds  whole  utterance.     Poet,  sing 
The  Hero,  then,  the  man  whose  work  the   Lord  of 

Worlds 
Confirms  coeval  with  his  peaks  and  stars. 

MELPOMENE.  All  speech 

Made  one  to  voice  the  strife  irreconcilable 
Of  .Will  and  Doom,  of  man  and  his  relentless  births 
Rending  the  spirit  that  engendered  them,  the  war 
Of  thunders  in  mid-air,  battling  if  earth  shall  be 
Blasted,  or  filled  with  foison  more  divine,  —  for  this 
Body  and   vesture,   sound,    speech,   color,  deed,    in 
wrought 
In  harmonies  of  harmonies  ! 

THALIA.  All  language,  too, 

For  joy,  for  reconcilement !     God  is  a  merry  God  ; 
And  from  their  lofty  seats  the  laughter  of  the  gods 
Goes  up  like  crackling  smoke  of  mighty  forest  fires. 
For  mirth,  the  child,  and  reconciling  love,  a  tall 
Young  angel,  and  the  calm  of  slow  full-statured  joy, 
These  three  stand  nighest  about  the  throne  of  God ; 

and  these 
Man  utters  and  arouses  when  I  come. 

TALIESIN.  I  reel, 

Drunken  with  vision.     Enter  into  me, 
Ye  voices,  and  become  my  life,  my  soul ! 
Or  how  shall  I  become  what  I  discern  ? 

TERPSICHORE.     Attend ;  and  take  the  meaning  of 
the  signs  you  see. 

3  33 


[A  marvellous  dance  of  the  nine  MUSES.  TERP 
SICHORE,  approaching  the  altar,  takes  there 
from  tJte  CHILD,  who,  as  he  joins  in  the 
dance  and  repeats  the  beautiful,  mysterious 
motions  of  the  goddesses,  is  transformed  from 
stage  to  stage  of  stature  and  loveliness,  until 
he  appears  a  youth,  tall  and  slender  and  of 
perfect  beauty.  He  is  completely  naked,  all 
his  ornaments  having  fallen  from  him  in  the 
dance.  But  the  MUSES  gather  up  and  restore 
to  him  a  few,  of  such  a  nature  that  they  en 
hance  rather  than  cumber  the  lithe  grace  of 
his  figure.  The  dance  finished,  the  YOUTH 
turns  to  TALIESIN.  As  he  does  so,  TALIESIN 
is  aware  that  NIMUE  is  again  standing 
by  his  side;  and  with  her  the  presence  of 
two  of  the  gods,  which  are  HERMES  and 
APOLLO. 
THE  YOUTH.  Below 

The  city  waits  with  garlands,  and  I  go; 

The  city  waits  with  garlands  like  a  bride. 

Now  with  the  joy  still  in  that  look  of  hers, 

I  must  go  to  her.     Not  a  sea-breath  stirs 

Across  the  gardens  where  she  waits  and  dreams 

Of  one  whose  coming  shall  be  like  a  tide 

Of  day,  flooding  the  marsh-long  loops  and  gleams 

Of  sunrise  heavens  in  midsummertide. 

I  am  her  lover ;  it  is  I  she  waits. 

Farewell ;  I  go  like  summer  to  her  gates. 

34 


HERMES.     Stay  for  a  moment.    If  you  go  into  the 

city 

With  no  more  raiment  than  you  need  on  Helicon, 
You  '11  hardly  get  the  kind  of  welcome  that  you  look 

for. 

Put  on  this  mantle  ;  it  is  the  prevailing  fashion, 
And  has  a  magic  virtue.     All  to  whom  you  speak 
Will  listen  while  you  wear  it.     Should  you  strip  it  off, 
Beware  !  men  stone  the  fool  that  jargons  in  their  ears, 
.  .  .  And,  since  you  seem  to  be  in  something  of  a 

hurry, 
Here,  take  my  sandals  (you  observe   the  wings  on 

them) ; 
Be   off ;   you   need   winged  sandals  when   a   lady 's 

waiting. 

Only,  be  sure,  next  time  you  are  passing  by  Olympus, 
Leave  them  with  Ganymede;  I  do  not  wish  to  lose 
them. 
[APOLLO  stretches  forth  his  hands  upon  the 

YOUTH. 

APOLLO.     When  thou  wast  still  blown  through  the 
leaves  at  the  will  of  the  air, 
I  was  with  thee  ! 

And  when  thou  wert  gathered  in  sleep  in  the  womb 
of  the  dark, 

I  was  with  thee  ! 

Look  on  me  !     Dost  thou  know  me,  who  I  am  ? 
THE  YOUTH.    Brightness  of  God,  bless  me  and  set 
me  free ! 

35 


[APOLLO  breathes  upon  his  forehead,  and  the 
face  and  the  whole  body  of  the  YOUTH  send 
forth  a  glow  as  of  flame  seen  through  a  veil. 
TALIESIN.    These  be  the  gods,  in  truth. 
NIMUE.  And  I,  a  god, 

Am  with  thee  forever. 

TALIESIN.  I  fear  the  gifts  of  gods. 

NIMUE.    The  gifts  of  the  gods  are  twofold,  — death 

and  life, 

TALIESIN.     Come  death  then,  so  they  give  me  life 
indeed. 

THE  YOUTH. 

O  World  !  O  Life  !  O  City  by  the  Sea ! 

Hushed  is  the  hum 
Of  streets ;  a  pause  is  on  the  minstrelsy. 

I  come,  I  come  ! 
The  sunlight  of  thy  gardens  from  afar 

Is  in  my  heart. 
A  girl's  laugh  dropt  from  heaven  like  a  star 

Leads  where  thou  art. 
The  old  men  in  the  market-place  confer, 

The  streets  are  dumb  ; 
The  sentinels  await  a  harbinger  — 

I  come,  I  come  1 

\He  leaps  downward  through  the  air^  and  his 
song  is  heard  dying  in  the  distance.  TALIESIN 
kneels  before  APOLLO,  about  whom  the  MUSES 
gather. 

36 


THE  MUSES. 

0  thou  without  whom  song  is  a  broken  bell, 

Whose  face  is  as  white  swords  with  the  sun  thereon  ! 
Look  on  thy  priest  who  kneels  before  thee, 
Silent,  awaiting  the  breath  that  quickens ; 

As  hangs  a  white  ship  under  a  tropic  moon 
Between  a  windless  sky  and  a  waveless  sea, 
Dream-still,  with  all  sail  set,  till  softly 
Over  the  waters  a  wind  arises. 

APOLLO.     Give  ear  to  their  teaching,  O  thou  who 

wouldst  take  fire  and  beacon  with  me  ! 
As  wood  or  as  brass  they  shall  fashion  thee ;  yea,  as 

a  lyre  they  shall  frame 
Thy  heart,  and  thy  lips  shall  be  moulded  as  the  lips 

of  a  trumpet  are  wrought. 
They  are  cunning  artificers ;  they  are  the  makers  of 

lutes  for  the  gods. 
But,  behold,  I  am  he  that  shall  smite  into  music  the 

lutes  they  have  strung  ; 

1  am  he  that  shall  breathe  through  their  trumpets; 

I  am  he  that  shall  burn  in  their  lyres. 
Ere  thou  lifted  thy  face  for  my  seeking,  ere  thou  wert, 

ere  the  world  was,  or  these, 
The  Nine  of  the  secrets  of  wisdom,  I  was,  and  my 

song  was,  with  God ; 
And  through  me  and  the  sound  of  my  singing  they 

were  made,  and  all  things  that  were  made. 

37 


THE  MUSES. 

Before  the  worlds  God  was  and  the  nothingness, 
The  yawn  of  space ;  He  spake,  and  the  word  was  Thou, 

First-born  of  angels  and  archangels, 
Lord  of  the  light  and  the  lyre,  Apollo. 

Thou  art  the  breath  God  kindles  the  stars  withal ; 
The  seed  of  God  wherewith  as  a  womb  the  world 
Conceives  and  brings  forth  life  ;  the  sea-cry 
Calling  the  soul  to  its  ageless  journey. 

APOLLO.     Greaten  thyself  to  the  end,  I  am  he  for 

whose  breath  thou  art  greatened ; 
Perfect  thy  speech  to  a  god's,  I  am  he  for  whom 

speech  is  made  perfect  ; 
And  my  voice  in  the  hush  of  thy  heart  is  the  voice  of 

the  tides  of  the  worlds. 
Thou  shalt  know  it  is  I  when  I  speak,  as  the  foot 

knows  the  rock  that  it  treads  on, 
As  the  sea  knows  the  moon,  as  the  sap  knows  the 

place  of  the  sun  in  the  heavens, 

As  the  cloud  knows  the  cloud  it  must  meet  and  em 
brace  with  caresses  of  lightning. 
When  thou  nearest  my  voice,  thou  art  one  with  the 

hurl  of  the  stars  through  the  void, 
One  with  the  shout  of  the  sea  and  the  stampede  of 

droves  of  the  wind, 
One  with  the  coursers  of  Time  and  the  grip  of  God's 

hand  on  their  harness  ; 
And  the  powers  of  the  night  and  the  grave  shall  avail 

not  to  stand  in  thy  path. 
38 


THE  MUSES. 

Oh,  well  for  him,  strong  son  of  the  urge  of  song, 
Who,  out  of  gloom  dim-groping  to  find  the  sky, 

Beholds  the  splendor  of  our  coming, 
Over  the  darkness  a  dawn  arising ; 

As  when  to  lost  wayfarers  in  woods  at  night 
Day  breaks  and  spectres  flee,  and  a  bird  begins 
His  joy,  and  paths  lie  straight  before  them. 
So  shall  he  stand  with  the  sunlight  on  him, 

Beholding  all  things,  myriad,  evident, 
Each  wave  that  lifts,  each  ripple  upon  the  wave, 
And  bird  and  bud  and  wind-borne  drift-seed, 
Leaf  and  the  vein  in  the  leaf  apparent. 

Till  eye  again  grow  dim  with  diviner  sight, 
Till  lips  forget  all  craft  in  the  lyric  rush, 
Till  knowledge  be  made  one  with  being, 

Deep  where  the  dark  of  the  soul  debates  not. 

For  he,  with  lips  made  swift  for  the  song  to  pass. 
Shall  be  aware  no  longer  of  lips  that  sing; 
Use  shall  have  made  speech  leap  unbidden, 
Sure  as  a  horse  when  he  knows  his  rider. 

So  day,  that  makes  earth  clear  to  its  tiniest, 
But  darkens  heaven's  orbed  deeps  and  immensities  ; 
Marks  motes  and  blots  out  spheres,  —  till  night 

comes, 
Night  with  the  stars  and  their  revelations. 

39 


THIRD   MOVEMENT. 

The  Chapel  of  the  Graal.  A  Gothic  hall  of  alabaster. 
In  the  middle,  at  back,  steps  lead  up  as  to  an  altar; 
but  in  the  stead  of  one  are  massive  golden  doors, 
bolted  heavily.  On  the  sides,  the  usual  choir-stalls, 
in  which  the  CHORISTERS  stand,  singing  their  office. 
The  aisle  between  is  spacious,  and  in  it,  on  the  left, 
on  a  couch  covered  with  white  leopard  skins,  KING 
EVELAC,  a  man  old  beyond  belief,  with  long  white 
hair  and  beard,  clad  in  white  garments  and  crowned 
with  a  silver  crown  inwrought  with  diamonds,  re 
clines  as  if  sick  and  worn  with  long  dolors.  On  the 
right,  further  back,  PERCIVAL  lies  asleep,  in  the 
same  posture  as  when  the  might  of  the  sleep  came 
upon  him.  His  head  and  arm  rest  upon  a  couch 
covered  with  white  leopard  skins,  and  at  his  head 
NIMUE  stands,  erect  and  clad  in  her  electric  mantle. 
Beside  them  TALIESIN  sits,  with  his  harp.  A  blue 
light  burns  in  the  sanctuary-lamp. 

Neither  KING  EVELAC  nor  the  CHORISTERS  pay  any 
heed  to  the  presence  of  the  others;  nor  does  the  King 
at  any  time  rise  or  change  his  posture. 


CHORISTERS. 
Hidden  in  the  hills  of  the  soul, 

The  dusk  of  us  calls  to  thee  — 

The  lone  of  us  cries  to  thee  ! 
Silent  in  the  far  of  the  soul, 

The  desire  of  thee  wakes  to  the  dark. 

Who  is  he  that  comes  like  the  day 

To  reveal  thou  art  nigh  to  us  — 

To  assure  thou  art  touching  us  ? 
Nay,  for  thou  art  gone  with  the  day, 

Who  wert  nearer  than  touch  in  the  dark. 

Utter  thy  desire,  O  my  soul, 

In  the  still  of  the  midnight  — 

In  the  death  of  the  midnight! 
Then  shall  there  be  signs  for  the  soul 

And  the  whispers  of  God  through  the  dark. 

KING  EVELAC.      As  a  stir  in  the   air,  when  the 

aspens  alone  are  aware  — 
CHORISTERS.     We  have  heard  thee,  Beloved. 
KING  EVELAC.     As  a  voice  in  a  dream,  as  an  echo 

of  voice  in  a  dream  — 

CHORISTERS.     We  have  heard  thee,  Beloved. 
KING  EVELAC.     As  the  birth  of  a  rose,  as  the  noise 

of  an  opening  rose  — 

CHORISTERS.    We  have  heard  thee,  Beloved. 
KING  EVELAC.    As  the  song  of  the  spheres,  as  the 

cry  of  the  lapse  of  the  years  — 
41 


CHORISTERS.    We  have  heard  thee,  Beloved. 

KING  EVELAC.  As  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  that  dis 
solves  ere  it  catches  the  eye  — 

CHORISTERS.     We  have  seen  thee,  Beloved. 

KING  EVELAC.  As  the  light  in  a  face,  that  a  mo 
ment  sufficed  to  efface  — 

CHORISTERS.     We  have  seen  thee,  Beloved. 

KING  EVELAC.  As  the  breath  of  the  moon  in  the 
lull  of  a  midnight  in  June  — 

CHORISTERS.    We  have  seen  thee,  Beloved. 

KING  EVELAC.  As  the  vision  supreme,  when  the 
prayer  dies  away  in  the  dream  — 

CHORISTERS.     We  have  seen  thee,  Beloved. 

KING  EVELAC.  As  the  fingers  that  pass  in  the  stir 
of  the  wind  in  the  grass  — 

CHORISTERS.     We  have  touched  thee,  Beloved. 

KING  EVELAC.  As  a  bird  feels  the  air  in  its  wings, 
to  caress  and  upbear  — 

CHORISTERS.     We  have  touched  thee,  Beloved. 

KING  EVELAC.  As  the  breath  of  a  lover  is  warm 
on  the  cheek  of  his  love  — 

CHORISTERS.     We  have  touched  thee,  Beloved. 

KING  EVELAC.  As  the  feel  of  the  night  and  its 
spaces,  about  and  above  — 

CHORISTERS.     We  have  touched  thee,  Beloved. 

KING  EVELAC.  By  the  cry  of  the  heart  in  the 
darkness,  to  know  where  thou  art  — 

CHORISTERS.    We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us. 


KING  EVELAC.     By  the  grace  thou  hast  shown,  by 

the  tokens  and  touch  we  have  known  — 
CHORISTERS.  We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us. 
KING  EVELAC.  By  the  vigil  thou  keepest  about  us, 

awake  and  asleep  — 

CHORISTERS.    We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us. 
KING  EVELAC.     By  thy  coming  at  night,  by  the 

voice  and  the  kiss  and  the  light  — 
CHORISTERS.    We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us.  ... 
KING  EVELAC.     Listen  to  the  fearfulness  of  our 

love. 
CHORISTERS.     And  forgive  us  the  unloveliness  that 

we  have  wrought.  .  .  . 
KING  EVELAC.    Alas,  the  memory  of  our  trespass 

clings 

Bat-like  and  sucks  the  courage  of  our  hearts. 
Alas,  the  knowledge  of  our  faithlessness 
Clings  like  an  ivy  to  our  crumbled  pride. 
CHORISTERS.    Forgive  us,  Beloved. 
KING  EVELAC.    Nathless,  thou  hast  not  wholly  cast 

us  off. 

Nathless,  we  are  the  wardens  of  the  light 
We  may  not  see,  the  love  we  dare  not  touch. 
Oh,  may  the  time  be  shortened  that  we  watch ! 
CHORISTERS.     Forgive  us,  Beloved.  .  .  . 
KING  EVELAC.     Therefore  we  have  shaken  off  fear 

from  our  feet  and  shame  from  our  eyelids. 
CHORISTERS.    And  our  song  is  a  song  of  love,  and 
our  voice  is  a  voice  of  rejoicing.  .  .  . 

43 


KING  EVELAC.    As  a  poet  abashed  at  the  heights 

on  him  flashed  from  above  — 
CHORISTERS.    We  adore  thee,  O  Lord. 
KING  EVELAC.    As  a  dog  lifts  his  pitiful  eyes  to 

his  master  for  love  — 
CHORISTERS.     We  adore  thee,  O  Lord. 
KING  EVELAC.    As  a  child's  heart  breaks  in  the 

dark  for  its  mother  with  love  — 
CHORISTERS.     We  adore  thee,  O  Lord. 
KING  EVELAC.    As  a  maiden's  soul  is  a  moonlit 

marsh  with  love  — 

CHORISTERS.     We  adore  thee,  O  Lord. 
KING  EVELAC.    O  secret,  O  sweet,  O  piercing  Lord 

of  the  soul  1  ... 

CHORISTERS. 

Lover  in  the  silent  night 

Who  comest  like  still  peaks 
Under  the  lonely  stars 

Into  the  soul's  retreats! 
O  lover  like  unto  the  light 

Of  a  dawn  seen  under  the  sea! 
As  a  leaf  that  the  loam  debars, 

Our  desire  is  unto  thee. 

As  sea-floors  trampled  with  wind, 

We  are  under  thy  feet ; 
And  the  light  of  thy  coming  is  dimmed 

With  the  daze  of  its  sweet ; 

44 


We  are  spread  as  a  plain  for  thy  couch, 

And  the  grasses  are  deep ; 
Kiss  us  with  the  kisses  of  thy  mouth, 

Which  are  sweeter  than  sleep. 

Lord  of  the  lone  heights 

Where  the  soul  has  fear ! 
Lord  of  the  secret  nights 

Of  the  starlit  mere ! 
We  are  the  waves  that  hush 

For  the  light  to  be. 
Dawn  o'er  us,  ravish  us, 
Prone  unto  thee.  ... 

[A  long  pause,  in  which  the  CHORISTERS  re 
main  with  their  faces  raised  in  silent  adora 
tion.  Then,  rising,  they  leave  the  stalls 
silently  and,  meeting  in  the  centre,  before  the 
golden  doors,  kneel  two  by  twoj  turning,  they 
come  down  the  spacious  aisle  and,  pausing 
two  by  two  to  bow  before  the  ancient  King, 
go  out  in  silence  by  a  little  door  on  the  right. 
During  the  singing  of  the  office,  PERCIVAL 
has  awaked. 

PERCIVAL.     There  is  a  quiet  thrill  along  the  air, 
As  if  God  laid  his  hand  upon  the  place. 
How  came  we  hither  ?    Whither  have  we  come  ? 
TALIESIN.    We  came  through  many  lands,  across 

a  sea, 
And  into  a  white  summer.     When  I  first 

45 


Looked  on  it,  tales  of  Thule  and  Ysmonde 

Woke  in  my  soul,  and  lands  of  ice  and  snow. 

But  from  the  fields  a  breath  of  lilied  June 

Blessed  me  upon  the  eyelids  with  a  kiss. 

No  glitter  of  the  diamonds  of  the  snow 

Was  on  the  fields,  but  lilies  and  white  grass, 

Softer  than  ermine,  lush  and  thick  and  deep, 

Wherein  no  footfall  sounded.     Tall  white  trees 

Blossomed  with  pale  mists  of  blue  flowers ;  and  birds 

With  plumage  like  the  green  of  sunset  skies, 

Or  the  dim  violet  of  the  moon's  dark  orb 

When  the  first  silver  rims  it,  sprang  from  bough 

To  bough  and  sang  as  birds  sing  in  a  dream 

Of  argent  heavens.     Aloof,  against  white  cliffs 

The  blue  sea  lay  in  calm,  silent  and  smooth, 

Under  the  cloudless  sky.     And  all  the  place 

Was  dim  as  the  great  deeps  of  a  man's  soul 

Or  of  the  sea.     And  in  the  midst  of  all 

Lay  a  white  temple,  with  a  golden  light 

That  issued  from  its  roof  and  reached  the  sky 

Like  a  strange  sunrise  coming  from  the  north. 

Therein  we  entered. 

PERCIVAL.  Knowest  thou  naught  else  ? 

{To  NIMUE.)  .  .  .  Unknown  and  mighty,  who  hast 

brought  me  here, 
Tell  me,  thou  !     Is  it  the  Chapel  of  the  Graal  ? 

[NiMUE  vanishes  softly  as  he  speaks,  but  a 
•vague  wraith  of  her  is  still,  front  time  to 
time,  seen  dimly  in  the  shadows. 
46 


(To  EVELAC.)  .  .  .  King,  for  thou  seemest  like  a 

king  and  bearest 

Upon  thy  brow  the  closed  crown  of  a  king ; 
Priest,  for  thou  doest  the  office  of  a  priest 
And  wearest  alb  and  stole  —  I  kneel  to  thee, 
Unwitting  who  thou  art.     Wisdom  and  eld 
Are  in  thy  face,  at  least,  and  kindliness. 
I  pray  thee,  tell  me  whither  I  am  come. 

KING  EVELAC.     Since  I  came  into  the  white  land, 

the  slow 

Waters  that  eat  an  inch  a  year,  have  gnawed 
The  length  of  six  graves  inland  from  the  cliffs. 
Here  without  change  of  spring  or  winter,  I, 
Changeless  as  the  still  season,  wait.     My  name 
Is  Evelac,  of  whom  perchance  some  bruit 
Sighs  still  along  the  arches  of  the  world. 
I  was  a  king,  what  time  one  of  the  Three 
Who  are  in  One  forever,  shrank  his  skies 
Into  the  compass  of  a  maiden's  womb. 
After  He  tore  the  mask  from  rosy  Death, 
Arimathean  Joseph  came  to  me 
In  the  wild  North  I  reigned  in,  preaching  peace, 
Bearing  in  his  hands  a  marvel,  even  — 

PERCIVAL.  The  Graal ! 

KING  EVELAC.    The  Cup  of  Mystery,  men  call  the 

Graal : 

Thou  seekest  it  ?     Beware  !     On  me,  the  first, 
The  sacred  madness  of  the  Vessel  came. 
Too  rash,  I  would  have  stretched  my  hand  upon  it 

47 


When  Joseph  died ;  the  wound  thereof  I  bear. 

Yet,  —  for  my  love  was  great,  —  this  grace  is  mine, 

That  God  shall  choose  the  issue  of  my  flesh 

To  lift  the  Graal  up  like  a  vasty  torch 

Blazing  God's  beacon  in  the  gulfs  of  sky ; 

And  till  he  come,  the  ninth  from  me  in  birth, 

I,  seeing  not,  unworthy  to  draw  nigh, 

Barred  from  its  beauty  and  its  gloriousness, 

Keep  watch  before  yon  portals  of  its  shrine, 

Doing  due  ritual,  warding  it  from  ill, 

The  porter  of  the  mysteries  of  God. 

The  centuries  go  by  like  northern  lights ; 

But  I  remain  till  all  this  be  fulfilled, 

And  he  whom  God  has  chosen,  come  at  last 

To  heal  me  of  my  wound,  and  gain  the  Graal. 

PERCIVAL.     Not  overbold,   nor  without  heavenly 

signs, 
Have  I  come  hither. 

KING  EVELAC.        Art  thou  he  I  wait? 
Come  near,  my  son,  that  I  may  look  on  thee.  .  .  . 
Seven  kings  have  ruled  the  realm  I  left  to  them, 
Eldest  from  eldest  born,  of  my  descent, 
The  last  of  whom  was  Ban.     From  him  should  spring 
A  son,  his  first-born,  whom  all  men  shall  praise ; 
And  from  that  son  he  that  shall  gain  the  Graal.  .  .  . 

PERCIVAL.     The  first-born  of  King   Ban  all  men 

indeed 

Praise,  and  acknowledge  knight  without  a  peer; 
All  men,  from  Arthur  to  a  villager, 
48 


Praise  Launcelot  du  Lac,  the  son  of  Ban. 
KING  EVELAC.     And  art  thou,  then,  his  son  ? 
PERCIVAL.  No  son  of  his 

Breathes  the  sweet  air  that  blows  across  the  world. 
Bound  by  a  sterile  love  of  lips  denied, 
Too  fervent-faithful  to  that  love  to  woo 
Another,  he  will  never  have  a  son. 

KING  EVELAC.     God  shall  accomplish  his  decrees, 

though  chance, 

Folly,  and  the  weak  wills  of  men  withstand  them. 
Man's  disobedience  shall  fulfil  his  hests 
As  well  as  man's  submission.     Deem  not  thou 
The  oracles  of  God  are  empty  words.  .  .  . 
And  as  for  thee,  since  thou  art  not  the  son 
I  wait,  give  o'er ;  the  Graal  is  not  for  thee. 

PERCIVAL.     Thy  oracles  for  thee,  and  mine  for  me. 
I  have  no  other  lantern  for  my  feet 
Than  the  one  given  into  my  hand.     The  lights 
That  others  bear,  however  true  for  them, 
But  cast  conflicting  gleams  athwart  my  path 
And  dazzle  all  my  searching.     Such  high  warrant 
I  have  for  my  desire,  I  must  obey, 
Were  Death,  not  Life,  the  Lord  behind  the  door.  .  .  . 
\He  takes  three  steps  toward  the  golden  doors 
and  stops  suddenly,  as  if  arrested  by  an  in 
visible  hand.     The  bolts  glide  back  of  them 
selves,  noiselessly,  and  the  doors  open.     The 
soft,  intense  splendor  of  the  Graal  fills  all 
the  place,  but  the  Graal  is  not  seen;  for  seven 

4  •  49 


ANGELS,  all  in  gold,  stand  before  it,  which 
are  the  Seven  that  see  God  continually.  One 
of  them,  URIEL,  who  stands  in  the  middle, 
a  little  before  the  others,  holds  in  his  hands  a 
flaming  sword. 
URIEL.  Percival  .  .  .  Percival!  .  .  .  Approach  no 

nearer  thy  desire,  thou  of  the  Choice. 
The  time  is  not  yet.     Still  the  air  thy  spirit  breathes 

too  thickened  is  with  noise 
Of  earth-blown  rumors  for  the  thin  pulsations  of  the 

interstellar  voice 
To  stir  its  sluggard  atoms  to  the  unbroken  theme  the 

deeps  hear  and  rejoice. 
Thy  heart  is  yet  too  full  of  anger,  and  the  hate  of  evil 

clots  thy  soul ; 
Too  far  from  hell  to  hate  it  must  he  be  whom  God 

shall  breathe  on  as  a  coal 
Until  the  pure  light  of  perfection  burns  about  him  like 

an  aureole. 
Pray  to  the  tranquil  night  to  let  the  calm   of  stars 

beneath  the  silent  pole 
Fall  like  a  mighty  hand  upon  thy  spirit,  even  like  the 

hand  of  Death. 
And  in  that  hour  when  thou  art  clothed  upon  with  the 

tranquillity  of  Death, 
When  Love  has  cast  out  even  the  hate  of  hate,  —  Love 

whom  the  gods  name  Death,  — 

Come,  and  the  gates  shall  open ;  come,  and  thou  shalt 
enter  in  the  holy  place, 


See  the  mask  melt  into  the  features  of  the  Living  Sou\ 

it  covers,  face 
The  Eyes  that   all  love  looks  through,  feel  intense 

about  thee  like  a  burning  breath 
The  swift  invasion  of  his  heart-beats,  the  reverberation 

of  his  grace.  .  .  . 
TALIESIN.     Lord,  who  am  I  that  I  should  let  my 

voice 

Swim  like  a  mote  into  the  golden  silence 
That  pours  like  sunlight  from  thy  ended  speech  ?  .  .  . 
Tall  lord  of  splendors,  slay  me  not  with  light, 
If  I,  unworthier  than  a  grasshopper, 
Send  my  thin  cry  across  the  summer  noon  I  ... 
Yet  will  I  take  heart,  O  my  lord,  and  speak ; 
For  thou  it  was,  none  other,  albeit  now 
In  fiercer  light  and  shape  more  awful  shown, 
That  on  the  Mount  of  Vision  spake  to  me 
And  showed  me  many  signs  and  breathed  upon  me, 
Filling  my  spirit  with  the  pulse  of  Time. 
Under  thy  forms  I  know  thee  for  the  same ; 
And  by  the  touch  still  tingling  on  my  brow 
Dare  speak  a  child's  speech  at  my  father's  feet. 
Behold  the  man  that  kneels  before  thee  here, 
Whom  thou  dost  not  arraign  of  any  sin. 
Much  has  he  wrought  and  suffered  much,  to  come 
Unto  this  place.     Shall  he  be  sent  away 
With  no  more  grace  than  this  thou  givest  him  ? 
URIEL.    Better  the  rose  of  love  out  of  the  dung-hill 

of  the  world's  adulteries 
s* 


Than  the  maid  icicle  that  keeps  itself  from  stain  of 

earth  where  no  life  is 
In  the  aloof  of  splendors  boreal.     His  own  soul  bars 

him  from  God's  bliss, 
Dwindling  the  sun  to  its  own  sterile  sheen  and  freezing 

with  transparencies. 
Let  him  go  back  among  his  fellow-men  and  learn  to 

love  and  learn  to  give, 
Forgetting  the  white  beauty  of  his  soul  in  the  desire 

that  all  that  live 
Should  beacon  into  t>eauty.  .  .  .  Yet  a  sign  to  star 

the  dark  he  shall  receive, 
Because  another  pleads  for  him.     Such  power  have 

prayers  of  self  oblivious. 
Let  him  await  Another  who  shall  come,  and  sit  in  the 

Siege  Perilous, 
And  live.     In  him  he  shall  behold  how  light  can  look 

on  darkness  and  forgive, 

How  love  can  walk  in  the  mire  and  take  no  stain  there 
from.     In  him  he  shall  possess 
The  stainlessness  he  craves,  outside  himself ;  and  in 

that  vision  luminous 
Letting  his  chiselled  virtue  melt,  reflect  at  last  God's 

loving  holiness.  .  .  . 
TALIESIN.     My  thoughts  are  vain  thoughts,  and  my 

words  are  folly; 

Yet  I  have  spoken  and  thou  hast  not  frowned, 
Yet  I  have  cried  and  thou  hast  looked  on  me. 
Therefore  will  I  gird  my  heart  up  once  again 
5* 


And  speak  out  boldly  to  the  Lord  my  God. 

Thou  who  beholdest  God  continually, 

Doth  not  his  light  shine  even  on  the  blind 

Who  feel  the  flood  they  lack  the  sense  to  see  ? 

The  lark  that  seeks  him  in  the  summer  sky 

Finds  there  the  great  blue  mirror  of  his  soul ; 

Winged  with  the  dumb  need  of  he  knows  not  what, 

He  finds  the  mute  speech  of  he  knows  not  whom. 

Is  not  the  wide  air,  after  the  cocoon, 

As  much  God  as  the  moth-soul  can  receive? 

Doth  not  God  give  the  child  within  the  womb 

Some  guess  to  set  him  groping  for  the  world, 

Some  blurred  reflection  answering  his  desire? 

We,  shut  in  this  blue  womb  of  doming  sky, 

Guess  and  grope  dimly  for  the  vast  of  God, 

And,  eyeless,  through  some  vague,  less  perfect  sense 

Strive  for  a  sign  of  what  it  is  to  see. 

The  gardens  that  we  journey  for  are  hid 

Behind  the  curve  of  the  eternal  sphere ; 

Yet  sometimes  in  the  sky  there  is  a  light 

As  of  a  thousand  pearls,  that  is  of  them. 

This  man  has  reached  the  little-travelled  roads  ; 

Grant  him  some  vision  of  the  nearing  goal. 

URIEL.    Draw  nearer,  thou !    For  unto  thee  shall  be 

declared  the  word  of  him  that  is. 
Less  perfect  in  the  circle  of  thy  powers  than  he  thou 

pleadest  for  in  his, 
Thou  hast  a  sense  he  lacks,  a  sense  still  clouded  over 

with  impurities 

53 


But  dim-discerning  the  eidolons  that  arise  from  that 

which  is  not  seen. 
Kneel ;  for  before  thy  time  the  Lord  shall  lead  thy  feet 

into  the  Ways  Serene, 
Into  the  meadows  of  his  smile,  the  riverlands  that  look 

upon  his  mien; 
Before  thy  time  thy  soul  shall  bathe  in  the  still  pools 

in  which  his  Face  is  seen. 

[He  lifts  a  sphere  of  diamond  above  his  head. 
Draw  near  and  look  within  the  crystal  orb  I  lift  above 

thee  for  a  sign. 
The  glory  hidden  from  thee  by  our  golden  wings  upon 

that  sphere  a-shine 
Leaves  there  the  vision  lurking  for  the  eyes  that  see. 

Deem  not  the  grace  is  thine 
Of  thine  own  merit.     Much  is  given  unto  thee,  that 

much  by  thee  be  given. 
Thou  art  the  eye  for  him  thou  comest  with,  that  he 

may  know  the  joy  divine ; 
Thou  art  an  eye  for  all  thy  kind,  to  lead  them  to  the 

open  gates  of  heaven.  .  .  . 

[TALIESIN  slowly  draws  nearer  the  ANGEL 
and  kneels  on  the  lowest  step  beneath  his 
feet,  looking  up  fearfully  into  the  diamond 
sphere. 

THE  ANGELS. 

Thine!  Thine!  Thine!  Thine!  Thine! 
O  kindle  of  the  world !     O  Love  divine ! 
O  wonder  of  the  uncomprehended  Sign 

54 


Wherein  the  darks  of  thee  take  fire  and  shine, 
Blazing  on  earth  what  heaven  could  scarce  divine ! 
Thine!  .  .  . 

Prone 

Before  the  awful  night  of  thine  unknown, 
Tides  that  set  blind  from  zone  of  space  to  zone, 
We  lift  ourselves  in  glowing  peaks  to  throne 
The  Dawn  eternal  where  thy  Face  is  shown, 
Known,  known ! 

Dim  of  Time ! 

Within  the  waters,  lo,  the  lights  that  rhyme 
The  timeless  splendors  of  the  heights  sublime ! 
Calmer  and  calmer  till  the  under-grime 
Dies  in  the  vision  of  the  holier  clime 
Above  thy  billows,  Time. 

Near !  near  !  near !  near !  near ! 
Until  beneath  the  film  of  sheen,  O  seer, 
Thine  eyes  behold  the  incarnation  clear, 
The  skies  within  the  dewdrop  of  the  sphere, 
Gleams  of  the  heavens  on  heavens  that  appear, 
Sheer.  .  .  .  ! 

TALIESIN. 

Oh,  Heart  of  the  Silences ! 
Cheek  nestling  close  to  my  cheek ! 
Breathing  in  the  dark ! 
Cooing  of  doves  in  my  soul ! 
Whisper  of  death  in  the  cool ! 

55 


Thy  coming  is  like  a  pool  of  still  water ; 
The  leaves  of  the  poplars  are  not  stirred. 
Thy  coming  is  like  a  meadow  at  sunset ; 
The  haystacks  cast  no  shadows ; 
A  spell  has  arrested  the  world. 

God  hath  not  considered  my  unworthiness  ; 

And  my  ill  favor  he  hath  set  at  naught. 

He  hath  stretched  out  his  arms  to  me,  as  a  lover, 

And  solicited  me  from  afar. 

I  am  terrified  with  thy  loveliness,  O  God. 

Thy  joy  is  like  the  joy  of  the  Night! 
Night  of  dim  bugles  !     Night  of  the  horns  of  dream  ! 
Night  of  the  listening  soul  1     Orchestral  Night ! 
Night  of  flute-silver  rivers  and  the  chanting  hills  ! 
Night  of  the  silent  music  of  the  moon ! 

My  soul  lies  in  the  lull  of  thy  spirit 

Like  a  lote  on  a  lonely  lake ; 

My  soul  melts  like  snow  in  the  waters  of  thy  joy ; 

Thy  love  is  like  a  white  silence ; 

The  joy  of  death  is  in  my  soul. 

[  Taking  his  harp,  he  sings  : 
Unaware  as  the  air  of  the  light  that  fills  full  all  its 

girth, 
Yet  crowds  not  an  atom  of  air  from  its  place  to 

make  way ; 

Growing  from  splendor  to   splendor,  from  birth  to 
birth, 

56 


As  day  to  the  rose  of  dawn  from  the  earlier  gray ; 
As  day  from  the  sunrise  gold  to  the  luminous  mirth 
Of  morning,  and  brighter  and  brighter,  till  noon 

shall  be ; 
Intense  as  the  cling  of  the  sun  to  the  lips  of  the 

earth, 
And  cool  as  the  call  of  a  wind  on  the  still  of  the  sea, 

Joy,  joy,  joy  in  the  height  and  the  deep ; 

Joy  like  the  joy  of  a  leaf  that  unfolds  to  the  sun ; 
Joy  like  the  joy  of  a  child  in  the  borders  of  sleep ; 

Joy  like  the  joy  of  a  multitude  thrilled  into  one ; 
Under  the  teeth  that  clench  and  the  eyes  that  weep, 

Deeper  than  discord  or  doubt  or  desire  or  wrong, 
One  with  the  wills  that  sow  and  the  Fates  that  reap, 

Joy  in  the  heart  of  the  world  like  a  peal  of  song. 

Stir  in  the  dark  of  the  stars  unborn  that  desire 

Only  the  thrill  of  a  wild,  dumb  force  set  free, 
Yearn  of  the  burning  heart  of  the  world  on  fire 

For  life  and  birth  and  battle  and  wind  and  sea, 
Groping  of  life  after  love  till  the  spirit  aspire, 

Into  Divinity  ever  transmuting  the  clod, 
Higher  and  higher  and  higher  and  higher  and  higher 

Out  of  the  Nothingness  world  without  end  into  God. 

Man  from  the  blindness  attaining  the  succor  of  sight, 
God  from  his  glory  descends  to  the  shape  we  can 
see; 

57 


Life,  like  a  moon,  is  a  radiant  pearl  in  the  night 
Thrilled  with  his  beauty  to  beacon  o'er  forest  and 
sea; 

Life  like  a  sacrifice  laid  on  the  altar,  delight 

Kindles  as  flame  from  the  air  to  be  fire  at  its  core  ! 

Joy,  joy,  joy  in  the  deep  and  the  height ! 
Joy  in  the  holiest,  joy  evermore,  evermore ! 

THE  ANGELS. 
Thine !     Thine  ! 

Shrined  in  the  worlds  of  worlds,  whom  yet  the  shrine 
Of  the  domed  universe  doth  not  confine ! 
Red  in  the  chalice  of  the  years  like  wine ! 
Uttered,  unutterable,  awful,  and  benign ! 
Thine  !  Thine  !  Thine !  Thine  !  Thine !  .  .  . 
Thine !  .  .  .  Thine !  .  .  .  Thine !  .  .  . 
Thine !  .  .  . 

[  The  golden  doors  close  silently,  and  the  song 
of  the  ANGELS  dies  away  within. 


Your  attention  is  invited  to 
the  notices  of  Mr.  Hovey^s 
books  on  the  following  pages 


By     RICHARD      HOVEY 

Launcelot  £^  Guenevere 

A  POEM  IN  DRAMAS. 

I.  The  QUEST  of  MERLIN.  II.  The  MARRIAGE  O/GUENEVERE. 
III.  The  BIRTH  O/GALAHAD.  IV.  TALIESIN. 

V.  The  HOLY  GRAAL  (in  preparation). 

5  volumes,  i6mo,  paper  board  sides,  vellum  backs,  with  decoration 
in  gold  by  Bertram  Grosvenor  Goodhue. 

(For  description  of  the  separate  volumes  see  the  following  pages.) 

Reviewing  the  first  three  volumes  of  this  work,  George 
Hamlin  Fitch  wrote  as  follows  in  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle  : 

"  A  new  poet,  saturated  with  the  spirit  of  the  present,  and 
yet  with  the  strength,  the  sweetness,  and  the  technical  skill  of 
the  men  who  have  become  English  classics  —  this  is  what  the 
world  of  English-speaking  readers  has  been  awaiting  for  more 
than  a  generation.  .  .  .  Hence  the  appearance  is  noteworthy 
of  an  American  poet  with  a  work  which  places  him  in  the 
front  rank  of  poets  of  to-day,  and  which  makes  him,  in  my 
judgment,  the  rightful  claimant  to  the  place  left  vacant  by  the 
authors  of  '  Pippa  Passes '  and  '  The  Idyls  of  the  King/  This 
may  seem  to  be  high,  even  extravagant  praise,  but  when  one 
reads  carefully  these  three  books  of  verse,  there  can  be  no 
other  judgment  than  that  here  is  a  genius  whose  first  mature 
poem  gives  promise  of  splendid  creative  work  during  the  next 
decade.  .  .  .  They  form  a  drama  which  is  full  of  the  passion 
and  power  of  Browning,  yet  with  much  of  the  charm  of  Shakes 
peare's  plays.  At  first  blush  it  seems  presumptuous  in  a 
young  poet  to  attempt  the  theme  on  which  Tennyson  lavished 
his  best  powers ;  but  when  one  has  read  Mr.  Hovey's  poems 
he  sees  at  once  the  absolute  originality  of  the  younger  poet." 

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I.  The  QUEST  of  MERLIN.     A  Masque. 

$1.25. 

"The  Quest  of  Merlin  "  shows  indisputable  talent  and  in 
disputable  metrical  faculty.  —  The  Athenceum,  London. 

Whatever  else  may  be  said  of  this  work,  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  the  singer  is  master  of  the  technique  of  his  art ;  that  for 
him  our  stubborn  English  tongue  becomes  fluent  and  musical. 
.  .  .  Underlying  all  these  evidences  of  artistic  skill  is  a  deeper 
intent,  revealing  in  part  the  poet's  philosophy  of  being.  ...  — 
Washington  Post. 

"  The  Quest  of  Merlin "  has  all  the  mystery  and  exquisite 
delicateness  of  a  midsummer  night's  dream. —  Washington 
Republic. 

II.  The  MARRIAGE  <?/ GUENEVERE.    A 

Tragedy.     $1.50. 

It  requires  the  possession  of  some  remarkable  qualities  in 
Mr.  Richard  Hovey  to  impel  me  to  draw  attention  to  this 
"  poem  in  dramas  "  which  comes  to  us  from  America.  .  .  .  The 
volume  shows  powers  of  a  very  unusual  quality, — clearness 
and  vividness  of  characterization,  capacity  of  seeing,  and,  by  a 
few  happy  touches,  making  us  see,  ease  and  inevitableness  of 
blank  verse,  free  alike  from  convolution  and  monotony.  .  .  . 
If  he  has  caught  here  and  there  the  echo  of  other  voices,  his 
own  is  clear  and  full-throated,  vibrating  with  passionate  sensi 
bility.  —  HAMILTON  AlD6,  in  The  Nineteenth  Century,  London. 

There  are  few  young  poets  who  start  so  well  as  Mr.  Richard 
Hovey.  He  has  the  freest  lilt  of  any  of  the  younger  Ameri 
cans.  —  WILLIAM  SHARP,  in  The  Academy,  London. 

The  strength  and  flexibility  of  the  verse  are  a  heritage  from 
the  Elizabethans,  yet  plainly  stamped  with  Mr.  Hovey's  indi 
viduality. —  CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS,  in  The  Bookbuyer. 

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III.  The  BIRTH  of  GALAHAD.     A  Roman 

tic  Drama.     $1.50. 

"  The  Birth  of  Galahad  "  is  the  finest  of  the  trilogy,  both  in 
sustained  strength  of  the  poetry  and  in  dramatic  unity. — 
GEORGE  HAMLIN  FITCH,  in  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

It  is  written  with  notable  power,  showing  a  strong  dramatic 
understanding  and  a  clear  dramatic  instinct.  Mr.  Hovey  took 
his  risk  when  he  boldly  entered  Tennyson's  close,  but  we  can 
not  see  that  he  suffers.  —  The  Independent,  New  York. 

Richard  Hovey  .  .  .  must  at  least  be  called  a  true  and  re 
markable  poet  in  his  field.  He  can  not  only  say  things  in  a 
masterly  manner,  but  he  has  something  impressive  to  say.  .  .  . 
Nothing  modern  since  the  appearance  of  Swinburne's  "Ata- 
lanta  in  Calydon  "  surpasses  them  [these  dramas]  in  virility 
and  classical  clearness  and  perfection  of  thought.  —  JOEL 
BENTON,  in  The  New  York  Times  Saturday  Review. 

IV.  TALIESIN.     A  Masque.     $1.00. 

"  Taliesin  "  is  a  poet's  poem.  As  a  part  of  the  "  Poem  in 
Dramas,"  it  introduces  the  second  trilogy,  and  prefigures  "  The 
Quest  of  the  Graal."  It  is  in  many  ways  the  author's  highest 
achievement.  It  is  the  greatest  study  of  rhythm  we  have  in 
English.  It  is  the  greatest  poetic  study  that  we  have  of  the 
artist's  relation  to  life,  and  of  his  development.  And  it  is  a 
significant  study  of  life  itself  in  its  highest  aspiration.  — 
CURTIS  HIDDEN  PAGE,  in  The  Bookman. 

No  living  poet  whose  mother-tongue  is  English  has  written 
finer  things  than  are  scattered  through  "  Taliesin." —  RICHARD 
HENRY  STODDARD,  in  The  Mail  and  Express,  New  York. 

It  is  sheer  poetry  or  it  is  nothing,  the  proof  of  an  ear  and  a 
voice  which  it  seems  ill  to  have  lost  just  at  the  moment  of 
their  complete  training.  In  his  death  there  is  no  doubt  that 
America  has  lost  one  of  her  best  equipped  lyrical  and  dra 
matic  poets.  —  EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN,  in  An  Amer 
ican  Anthology. 

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A  Poem  in  Dramas  by    RICHARD     HOVEY 

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Unfinished  Dramas  of  the  Launcelot  & 
Guenevere  Series  (in  preparation).  $1.50. 

It  had  been  Mr.  Hovey's  intention  to  complete  his  notable 
Arthurian  Series  in  nine  dramas,  of  which  only  four  had  been 
published  at  the  time  of  his  death.  He  left  fragmentary  por 
tions  in  manuscript  of  all  the  remaining  five,  and  these  frag 
ments  have  been  edited  and  arranged,  with  notes,  by  his  widow, 
as  the  only  possible  attempt  toward  completion  of  this  match 
less  monument  of  American  verse. 

ALONG     THE     TRAIL 

A  Book  of  Lyrics  by    RICHARD     HOVEY 

i6mo,  brown  cloth,  gold  cover  decoration  by  Bertram  Gros- 
venor  Goodhue.    $1.50. 

Richard  Hovey  has  made  a  definite  place  for  himself  among 
the  poets  of  to-day.  This  little  volume  illustrates  all  his  good 
qualities  of  sincerity,  fervor,  and  lyric  grace.  He  sings  the 
songs  of  the  open  air,  of  battle  and  comradeship,  of  love,  and 
of  country,  —  and  they  are  all  songs  well  sung.  In  addition, 
his  work  is  distinguished  by  a  fine  masculine  optimism  that  is 
all  too  rare  in  the  poetry  of  the  younger  generation.  —  Satur 
day  Evening  Posf,  Philadelphia. 

As  a  whole  it  stands  the  most  searching  test  —  you  read  it 
again  and  again  with  constantly  increasing  pleasure,  satisfac 
tion,  and  admiration.  —  Boston  Herald. 

Mr.  Hovey  has  the  full  technical  equipment  of  the  poet,  and 
he  has  a  poet's  personality  to  express,  —  a  personality  new  and 
fresh,  healthy  and  joyous,  manly,  vigorous,  earnest.  Added 
to  this  he  has  the  dramatic  power  which  is  essential  to  a  broad 
poetic  endowment.  He  is  master  of  his  art  and  master  of  life. 
He  is  the  poet  of  joy  and  belief  in  life.  He  is  the  poet  of 
comradeship  and  courage. — CURTIS  HIDDEN  PAGE,  in  The 
Bookman. 

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Songs  from  Vagabondia 

By  BLISS   CARMAN  &  RICHARD   HOVEY 

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decorations  by  Tom  B.  Meteyard.      Ji.oo. 


A  book  full  of  the  rapture  of  the  open  air  and  the  open  road,  of  the 
wayside  tavern  bench,  the  April  weather,  and  the  "  manly  love  of  com 
rades."  .  .  .  The  charm  and  interest  of  the  book  consist  in  the  real, 
frank  jollity  of  mood  and  manner,  the  gypsy  freedom,  the  intimate, 
natural  happiness  of  these  marching,  drinking,  fighting,  and  loving 
songs.  They  proclaim  a  blithe,  sane,  and  hearty  Bohemianism  in 
the  opening  lines.  .  .  .  The  mood  is  an  unusual  one,  especially  in 
verse,  but  welcome,  if  only  as  a  change,  after  the  desperate  melan 
choly,  the  heart-sickness,  and  life-weariness  of  the  average  verse-writer 
—  London  Athenceum. 

Between  the  close  covers  of  this  narrow  book  there  are  some  fifty- 
odd  pages  of  good  verse  that  Bobby  Burns  would  have  shouted  at  his 
plough  to  see  and  Elia  Lamb  would  have  praised  in  immortal  essays. 
These  are  sound,  healthy  poems,  with  a  bit  of  honest  pathos  here  and 
there,  to  be  sure,  but  made  in  the  sunlight  and  nurtured  with  whole 
some,  manly  humors.  There  is  not  a  bit  of  intellectual  hypochondria 
in  the  little  book,  and  there  is  not  a  line  that  was  made  in  the  sweat  of 
the  brow.  They  are  the  free,  untrammelled  songs  of  men  who  sing 
because  their  hearts  are  full  of  music,  and  who  have  their  own  way  of 
singing,  too.  These  are  not  the  mere  echoes  of  the  old  organ  voices. 
They  are  the  merry  pipings  of  song-birds,  and  they  bear  the  gift  of 
nature.  —  New  York  Times. 

The  authors  of  the  small  joint  volume  called  "  Songs  from  Vaga- 
'bondia"  have  an  unmistakable  right  to  the  name  of  poet.  These 
little  snatches  have  the  spirit  of  a  gypsy  Omar  Khayya~m.  They  have 
always  careless  verve,  and  often  careless  felicity ;  they  are  masculine 
and  rough,  as  roving  songs  should  be.  ...  You  have  the  whole  spirit 
of  the  book  in  such  an  unforgettable  little  lyric  as  "  In  the  House  of 
Idiedaily."  —  FRANCIS  THOMPSON,  in  Merry  England, 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  by  the  publishers 

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More  Songs  from  Vagabondia 

By  BLISS   CARMAN  fir*  RICHARD   HOVEY 

i6mo,  paper  boards,  with  cover  and  end  paper 
decorations  by  Tom  B.  Meteyard.     #1.00. 


The  second  volume  is  no  less  worthy  of  welcome  than  the  first. 
We  find  the  same  ardent  imagination,  the  same  delicacy  and  grace  of 
rhythm  as  before.  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

The  muse  of  these  poems  may  be  a  reckless,  wanton  baggage  .  .  . 
but  her  eyes  are  as  honest  as  the  growth  of  a  tree  or  the  movement  of 
a  deer,  and  she  is  as  clean  and  wholesome  as  a  burgeoning  spring  noon. 
—  Boston  Journal. 

How  long  is  it  since  another  volume  appeared  so  packed  with  high 
spirits  and  good  humor?  Certainly  not  since  the  original  "Songs 
from  Vagabondia  "  came  out.  The  poetry  fairly  bubbles  over, —  even 
over  into  the  inside  of  the  covers,  where  some  verses  are  enshrined  in 
drawings.  It  is  a  book  that  makes  the  reader  young  again.  —  Buffalo 
Express. 

Hail  ,to  the  poets !  Good  poets !  Real  poets  !  .  .  .  They  are  the 
free,  untrammelled  songs  of  men  who  sing  because  their  hearts  are  full 
of  music  ;  and  they  have  their  own  way  of  singing,  too.  "  Songs  from 
Vagabondia"  ought  to  go  singing  themselves  into  every  library  from 
Denver  to  both  seas,  for  they  are  good  to  know.  —  New  York  Times. 

These  gentlemen  have  something  to  say,  and  they  say  it  in  a  hale 
and  ready  way  that  is  as  convincing  as  it  is  artistic.  One  is  not  met 
at  every  turn  by  some  platitude  laboriously  wrought,  which  the  minor 
poets  nowadays  so  delight  in,  but  a  ring  and  a  cheer  and  a  manner 
neither  obscure  nor  commonplace,  with  just  enough  mystery  to  delight 
and  stimulate  the  imagination  without  overtaxing  it.  —  Washington 
Star. 

The  pulsing  of  warm,  youthful  blood,  the  joy  of  living,  and  comrade 
ship  are  enclosed  between  the  covers  of  "More  Songs  from  Vaga 
bondia."  The  poems  are  full  of  exuberant  vitality,  with  a  fine  and 
energetic  rhythm.  —  The  Argonaut. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers ;  or  sent  postpaid  by  the  publishers 

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Last   Songs   from  Vagabondia 

By   BLISS   CARMAN   d^   RICHARD   HOVEY 

i6mo,  paper  boards,  with  cover  and  end  paper 
decorations  by   Tom   B.  Meteyard.          $1.00 

This  third  collection  makes  a  fitting  close  to  the  fresh  and 
exhilarating  poetry  of  the  two  preceding  volumes  of  the  series. 
It  contains,  in  addition  to  verses  set  aside  for  this  purpose  by 
both  authors  prior  to  Mr.  Hovey's  death,  certain  later  poems 
by  Mr.  Carman,  reminiscent  of  his  friend  and  fellow-vagabond. 

"  The  sight  of  '  Last  Songs  from  Vagabondia '  must  raise  a 
pang  in  many  breasts,  a  remembrance  of  two  best  of  comrades 
sundered.  They  were  mad  carols,  those  early  Vagabondian 
lays,  with  here  and  there  a  song  more  seriously  tuned,  but 
beyond  their  joyous  ebullition  were  beauty  of  no  uncertain 
quality,  the  riches  of  Vagabondia  —  love  and  youth  and  com 
radeship —  and  the  glamour  of  the  great  world  unexplored. 
All  those  qualities  are  embodied  in  these  '  Last  Songs/  nor  is 
the  joy  in  living  absent,  only  softened  to  a  soberer  tone.  The 
themes  vary  little,  the  joys  of  the  road  are  still  undimmed, 
there  is  ever  closer  cleaving  of  comrade  to  comrade,  and  there 
is  the  old  buckling  on  of  bravery  against  the  battle ;  under 
neath  all  this  a  note  hitherto  unheard  in  Vagabondia,  a  sense  of 
the  inescapable  loneliness  of  every  soul.  Both  Mr.  Carman 
and  Mr.  Hovey  have  perfect  command  of  the  lyric  form,  both 
the  power  to  -imprison  in  richly  colored  verse  a  complete 
expression  of  the  wander-spirit."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  Worthy  to  take  their  place  alongside  their  charming  and 
inspiriting  predecessors."  —  Boston  Journal. 

"  One  finds  in  this  volume  the  breadth  of  view,  the  spon 
taneous  joy,  the  unexpected  outlook,  and  the  felicity  of 
touch  which  betray  the  true  poet."  —  The  Outlook. 

"  The  charm  of  the  verses,  especially  of  the  lyrics,  is  as  great  in 
this  as  in  the  two  previous  volumes." —  New  Orleans  Picayune. 

For  sale  at  all  Booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  by  the  publishers 

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